“ If any word of this is not true, may God strike me down and take all my guns away.”
The early morning drive was uneventful from my point of view. Country roads and dry pavement. I didn’t realize my sister was such a Nervous Nelly.
“Slow down”, “Watch that curve”, “Oh, you’re gonna crash” “Where are we going?”
“I know where we are going and I know how to drive, Sis.”
You would think we were in our twenties. I am 51 and my dear sister is just a couple of years older. We were on our way to the most beautiful deer cover I have ever laid eyes on. It was opening day, November 2016.
We finally arrived at the property. It was still not light out. A miracle, as my sister forced me to drive 45 mph when I was more than capable of going 60. The place is owned by my wife’s friend. Pines, hardwoods, creek bottoms, swamps, ponds, orchards, ridges and valleys. Lustful. I had hunted turkeys in the spring and upland birds in the fall at this place. I was beside myself at how cool the place was. I knew there were nice bucks on the property. I saw them. They saw me.
We walked down the trail and I directed Sis to the spot I thought most likely for success (it's been a dozen years since she got a buck). I continued on to a treestand about 200 yards away. I settled in for the morning “sit”. The temp was around thirty but it was damp. About an hour into the hunt I started getting chilled. Damn circulation, or lack thereof. I broke out the thermos and poured a steaming cup of heavily creamed coffee. Things were looking up. “Where the hell are the deer?” Oh well. About a dozen healthy looking turkeys walked by and I was certainly glad to see them. My sis and I were texting back and forth. She saw some doe and maybe a buck that was a distance away. By 11 am it started to warm up. Ave Maria. My fingers started to thaw and I was able to play a game of Freecell on my smartphone. Again, where were the deer?
I had with me my good luck charm… Nemo’s .38. Nemo was my Mom’s first cousin. A dear old chap who, along with his two brothers, fought in Europe in the early ‘40s. They were all aviators. Hero is just a small word to describe him. I’m not sure it covers all his exploits. The revolver is a Model 67, it just doesn’t get much better (he had good taste). It has served me well over the years. I pat it, under my jacket, and hope a nice buck will walk in front of my sister.
Fast forward a couple of weeks. This evening in fact. Sis invited me up to her house to see her Christmas tree and have a holiday cocktail with her and her husband. My wife had work commitments so I went alone. The tree looked elegant and the fire was ripping in the fireplace. We are a very close family, plenty of siblings. Mom and Dad must have been crazy. Mom is still fighting the fight, Dad joined the great majority years ago. He was an avid deer hunter and outdoorsman. He also once got a haircut by a kamikaze while standing on the signal bridge one sunny morning out in the pacific. The USS Taluga burned for quite a while but limped back to port, and was back in action soon after. As I recall the pilot was just 19 years old.
I am back home now and Wifey is asking, “Watcha doin?” I tell her I am writing a short story…a very short one. “Oh, let me read it when you are done.” Sure thing.
Big sister and I break for lunch and chomp on ham and cheese sandwiches that she made. Delicious. We strategize for the afternoon. The strategy? The same thing as the morning (I am quite the guide, right?). I in my treestand and her in the hardwoods…..except she decides to sit on the next ridge over from the morning sit. The temp now reaches 60 and the sun is in my face. What the heck? This does not seem like the late November opening days of yore. 3:22 pm and all of a sudden…POW! A shot rings out. It’s in the direction of Sis. The distance sounds like it may be her. We are not the only hunters on this large property. Tough to tell. She carries a Ruger lever action in .44 mag. I am used to hearing .30-06 and .280 rifles bark. I send a quick text…”U?“ 90 secs go by and finally…”Yup, not sure, may have missed”.
UUUUGGGGHHH!!! Missed? Say it isn’t so. Please, please, please. I wait in the treestand, clutching my 700 Mountain rifle in .280 and pray there is a dead buck. A couple of painful minutes go by and then my cellphone vibrates. It’s a photo of a very dead 6 point buck. I unload the .280 and lower it down. Then I fly out of that tree.
Shot right through the heart. I should know, as I was the one elected to gut it.
Before I leave Sis’s house she gives me a box full of frozen venison. Good thing, because this year my freezer was empty. I have to confess, it was the best deer season ever.
I hear the cocktail shaker rattling…. Wifey is in the holiday mood, so I must sign off.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
The early morning drive was uneventful from my point of view. Country roads and dry pavement. I didn’t realize my sister was such a Nervous Nelly.
“Slow down”, “Watch that curve”, “Oh, you’re gonna crash” “Where are we going?”
“I know where we are going and I know how to drive, Sis.”
You would think we were in our twenties. I am 51 and my dear sister is just a couple of years older. We were on our way to the most beautiful deer cover I have ever laid eyes on. It was opening day, November 2016.
We finally arrived at the property. It was still not light out. A miracle, as my sister forced me to drive 45 mph when I was more than capable of going 60. The place is owned by my wife’s friend. Pines, hardwoods, creek bottoms, swamps, ponds, orchards, ridges and valleys. Lustful. I had hunted turkeys in the spring and upland birds in the fall at this place. I was beside myself at how cool the place was. I knew there were nice bucks on the property. I saw them. They saw me.
We walked down the trail and I directed Sis to the spot I thought most likely for success (it's been a dozen years since she got a buck). I continued on to a treestand about 200 yards away. I settled in for the morning “sit”. The temp was around thirty but it was damp. About an hour into the hunt I started getting chilled. Damn circulation, or lack thereof. I broke out the thermos and poured a steaming cup of heavily creamed coffee. Things were looking up. “Where the hell are the deer?” Oh well. About a dozen healthy looking turkeys walked by and I was certainly glad to see them. My sis and I were texting back and forth. She saw some doe and maybe a buck that was a distance away. By 11 am it started to warm up. Ave Maria. My fingers started to thaw and I was able to play a game of Freecell on my smartphone. Again, where were the deer?
I had with me my good luck charm… Nemo’s .38. Nemo was my Mom’s first cousin. A dear old chap who, along with his two brothers, fought in Europe in the early ‘40s. They were all aviators. Hero is just a small word to describe him. I’m not sure it covers all his exploits. The revolver is a Model 67, it just doesn’t get much better (he had good taste). It has served me well over the years. I pat it, under my jacket, and hope a nice buck will walk in front of my sister.
Fast forward a couple of weeks. This evening in fact. Sis invited me up to her house to see her Christmas tree and have a holiday cocktail with her and her husband. My wife had work commitments so I went alone. The tree looked elegant and the fire was ripping in the fireplace. We are a very close family, plenty of siblings. Mom and Dad must have been crazy. Mom is still fighting the fight, Dad joined the great majority years ago. He was an avid deer hunter and outdoorsman. He also once got a haircut by a kamikaze while standing on the signal bridge one sunny morning out in the pacific. The USS Taluga burned for quite a while but limped back to port, and was back in action soon after. As I recall the pilot was just 19 years old.
I am back home now and Wifey is asking, “Watcha doin?” I tell her I am writing a short story…a very short one. “Oh, let me read it when you are done.” Sure thing.
Big sister and I break for lunch and chomp on ham and cheese sandwiches that she made. Delicious. We strategize for the afternoon. The strategy? The same thing as the morning (I am quite the guide, right?). I in my treestand and her in the hardwoods…..except she decides to sit on the next ridge over from the morning sit. The temp now reaches 60 and the sun is in my face. What the heck? This does not seem like the late November opening days of yore. 3:22 pm and all of a sudden…POW! A shot rings out. It’s in the direction of Sis. The distance sounds like it may be her. We are not the only hunters on this large property. Tough to tell. She carries a Ruger lever action in .44 mag. I am used to hearing .30-06 and .280 rifles bark. I send a quick text…”U?“ 90 secs go by and finally…”Yup, not sure, may have missed”.
UUUUGGGGHHH!!! Missed? Say it isn’t so. Please, please, please. I wait in the treestand, clutching my 700 Mountain rifle in .280 and pray there is a dead buck. A couple of painful minutes go by and then my cellphone vibrates. It’s a photo of a very dead 6 point buck. I unload the .280 and lower it down. Then I fly out of that tree.
Shot right through the heart. I should know, as I was the one elected to gut it.
Before I leave Sis’s house she gives me a box full of frozen venison. Good thing, because this year my freezer was empty. I have to confess, it was the best deer season ever.
I hear the cocktail shaker rattling…. Wifey is in the holiday mood, so I must sign off.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Last edited:
